Tag Archives: parent

I’m A Stay-At-Home-Mom and No, I Won’t Shut Up!

Dear Momma who wrote the subtly titled, “Dear Stay-At-Home-Moms, Please Shut Up.“,

So many things crossed my mind when I read this.

So. Many. Things.

First the good:

1) At least you said “Please”.

And now… the rest:

While I agree with the sentiment that EVERYONE should be grateful for their blessings, what I take offense to is the notion that Stay-At-Home-Moms (SAHMs) should “shut their friggin’ pie holes.”  I am a mom who, by choice, quit my full-time job to stay home with my children, but who, also by choice, sometimes sends my kids to daycare so I can do freelance work… not because I have to, but because I WANT to.  I guess you would call me a SAHM, but I don’t know why we need titles. I am a mom.  I love being home with my amazing children. However, I have also been known to complain about said amazing children.  And I’m sorry, Momma, if that gives you a bad rap, but I have never been one to shut my friggin’ pie-hole, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. So here’s my piehole’s worth…

Being a parent is a blessing, but it is also a job. Some would even say it’s a dream job. The pay aint much and the hours are long, but it has a an unimaginable bonus structure. But here’s the deal: Every single person I know – even those with dream jobs – complain from time to time. Long hours, ridiculous clients, tough bosses, annoying coworkers, or even just run-of-the-mill mental or physical exhaustion. No one I know is totally immune to the siren’s call of a good old-fashioned bitch sesh. Do you know why this is? Because hard work is… well… hard. And sometimes bitching just feels good. It’s a God-given right for every person to be able to bitch now and then. Well, I don’t know if God actually gave us that right, but I am pretty sure it is written in the Constitution or the Declaration of Independence or the owner/operator manual or something. Anyway, if complaining isn’t a right, it should be. So, just because a SAHM or SAHD doesn’t get paid in actual dollars or have an actual boss – other than a tyrant toddler – does he or she also forfeit the right to bitch about his or her job? I think not.

Just because a parent complains about their exhausting days or unruly children, doesn’t mean they love their job or their children any less.  It means that they are human. It means that their job is tough sometimes.  It could mean that they need a hand or possibly just an ear. Telling other moms to shut up about their frustrations is just another example of the Mean Mom syndrome that plagues our playgrounds, mommy groups and internet boards. And, with baby blues and postpartum depression running rampant, it’s more than just mean – it’s irresponsible and dangerous.

Momma, I love my children more than I could ever put into words.  I am grateful for every milestone I can witness, every boo-boo I can kiss and dirty butt I can wipe. Ok, I could actually live without the butt-wiping, but still.  I know that there are many parents who wish they could be home with their children, who cannot.  I also know that there are many parents who stay home with their children, who long to go back to work, but cannot. But most of all, I know that whether you work outside the home or inside the home with your children, we parents are all working double time.  There is no break from parenthood. There is no rest. There is no perfect balance. There is only doing the best we can.  And while we go into parenthood knowing this, it doesn’t make it any easier. This journey called parenthood is the most amazing journey life has to offer, but sometimes the road is bumpy. Sometimes it even seems impossible. That’s why we need to help and support one another, not tear each other down, and certainly not shut each other up.

So Momma, the next time a friend knocks at your door with her “greasy hair and caffeine withdrawals”, instead of telling her to “just be content or quit your whining” maybe you could try listening. Maybe you could offer some help, or just some sympathy. Or maybe you could offer up some pie for her friggin’ pie-hole. Pie always makes me feel better.

Just a suggestion.

With respect,

Courtney

shut up

photo credit: LaVladina via photopin cc

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Women Make Plans…

Babies... they sure are cute, but they don't listen very well!
Babies… they sure are cute, but they don’t listen very well!

“Women make plans and God laughs.” That is the phrase that I jokingly uttered to my doctor last week as we were discussing my birth “plan.”  It became yet another shining example of why I should learn to keep my big fat mouth shut. Because, now, someone is laughing. And it sure as hell isn’t me.

I know that when it comes to pregnancy, as well as most things in life, the only thing you can absolutely plan on is that nothing will ever go as planned. I really, really DO know this. But, despite this knowledge, and against my better judgement, I had a plan for how this birth was going to happen. My parents were going to fly in from Colorado on the 19th, and I was definitely going to go into labor on the 20th. (My actual due date.) They would be here to take care of my toddler while I rushed to hospital – and it’s a good thing that they would be here, because this labor was going to go fast! That’s the way it’s supposed to happen with baby #2, right? That’s what various moms, doctors and articles all claimed. A fast and (relatively) easy and (somewhat) painless birth. This promise of an easy labor was the one thing that I clung to throughout this pregnancy. It was the one thing that got me through when everything else was so much harder the second time around. I should have gotten a money back guarantee on that one.

Ok, so where was I? Ah yes, my “plan”. So after this miraculous and joyous labor, my perfect, healthy, handsome and not-at-all-coneheaded boy would emerge into the world. My husband would hold him up above his head and all the nurses would hum “Circle of Life.” I would stay at the hospital for a couple of days, and my parents would bring my daughter to come meet her new baby brother. We would do everything just as friends, blogs and books recommend to ease the introduction between the new siblings, and my daughter would be delighted to meet her new best friend. She would hug me hard and kiss him very gently, and declare that she loves her new brother more than anything! And we would capture it all in photos and videos, and in these captured moments I would look as fresh and beautiful as Duchess Kate. And we would all live happily ever after. Are you laughing yet? Because, like I said, someone is. And it still aint me.

On Monday I went to get an ultrasound because the baby was measuring a bit small. Ironic isn’t it? I spent the first half of pregnancy complaining that I was too big and now I am concerned that I am too small. The baby is fine, thank God. Actually, he is more than fine. He seems to be having the time of his (short) life in there.

As the doctor was looking at the ultrasound, she says, “So the first interesting thing I see is that the baby is breech (head up instead of down).”  And my reaction?  “Wait, what? I’m sorry. I thought you said he was breech! Heh-heh. That is hilarious because on Thursday his head and all other body parts were exactly where they were supposed to be and I am 37 weeks along and dangerously close to giving birth and babies don’t just up and move like that, do they?”  Apparently they do. I guess kids don’t follow our plans, even when they are 0 years old.

After listening to the ultrasound doctor crush my dreams of an “easy” and “beautiful” labor with her doom and gloom predictions of a necessary C-section, and after an embarrassing explosion of tears in the elevator, complete with requisite strangers totally staring and yet somehow awkwardly avoiding eye-contact, I sat in my car in shock for a full 10 minutes. And cried. Then, realizing that this was costing me $1000 per minute in doctor’s office parking fees, I started my car, stopped crying, and did the only thing that someone like me could do in this situation… began planning.

After talking to my OB, I got a bit more hopeful. She was optimistic (although I am pretty sure that she cursed when she heard that the baby was now breech.) She had a plan. And once I had a list of things to do, I began to feel better.  I went to prenatal chiropractor, who opened my hips to make my pelvis more “inviting”. I stacked up pillows and lay inverted while I watched “Breaking Bad”. I burned incense at my pinky toes for 10 minutes to encourage movement. I talked to my baby and asked him to please turn around. Then I yelled at my baby and demanded he turn around. Then I felt guilty and apologized to my baby for yelling and gently told him that he could do what he thought was right, but I would really appreciate it if he could please, please turn around. But most importantly, I started to get right with the idea that I may have to have a C-section, or I may not. But no matter what, nothing was going to go as planned and maybe, possibly, potentially, that was ok.

And then somehow… it all worked.

He is now head down where he is supposed to be and I am tentatively excited. I don’t know what will happen now. He is small and still moving more than he should be, so there is potential that he could flip again. The doctor thinks she may have to induce next week. Or that I will possibly go into labor naturally any time now (2 weeks early). Or that he might continue to surprise us all, and hang out just a little bit longer. The only thing I know is that I can’t plan on anything anymore. And maybe, possibly, potentially it will all be ok anyway.

Alright, now I’ve gotta run. I have birth announcements and first birthdays and preschool and college and weddings to start planning for.

photo credit: Nina Matthews Photography via photopin cc

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BIG NEWS!!

Check out my latest post for some big news!  http://goodbadsaggy.com

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Tough Happens

Today has been a tough day. Not as tough a day as many people around the world are having – fighting illness, war, abuse, hunger, poverty, and the inability to use the correct there/their/they’re – but more of a day full of annoyances and frustrations. Minor in terms of the scope of problems that I just mentioned, but that knowledge doesn’t make me feel less frustrated.  And I am trying not to feel guilty about that.  Sometimes we just need to feel frustrated.  To give into to it for a minute before we can get over it.  So I am.

My daughter hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days.  She has had a fever and has been waking up through the past few nights, which then causes her to be cranky during the following days because she is tired.  So I have gotten little more than a couple of hours of restless sleep for the past few nights, which has led to me also being cranky during the day.  So when my daughter has total meltdowns because I won’t allow her to put a plastic bag over her head, or she throws the lotion on the floor-causing it to explode all over the carpet, or when she smacks me the face with the force of a miniature prize-fighter, my own exhaustion and crankiness cause me to want to have a total meltdown.  What can I throw?  Who can I smack in the face?

Here’s the thing though.  It will pass.  One night soon (please God, please) she will feel better and get a good night of sleep.  And then so will I.  And life will be good again… until it’s not.  That’s the way parenting goes.  It is tough. It is wonderful. Often both at the same time.

So, I am not writing this post to ask for advice on how to get through this.  And I am certainly not writing this post to give advice on how to get through a similar situation.  I am simply writing this to remind everyone that Tough happens.  It happens to the best of us.  And to the not-even-close-to-the-best-of-us.   It happens in big problems and small annoyances. And sometimes we let our frustrations get the best of us.  Sometimes we even throw things or have meltdowns. And sometimes that’s ok… as long as you are not at work.  Or at a restaurant with tablecloths.  Or the grocery store.  Or on public transportation.  Or really anywhere in public if you can help it.

Image

I am woman, hear me roar!!! (in the privacy of my own home, of course.)

photo credit: Darwin Bell via photopin cc

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Random Thought: On Holiday Cards

It’s been a while since I have posted a random thought.  I am not sure if that is because I have become less random or because I have less thoughts. Either way, here’s one that has been plaguing me lately:

What the hell do I do with all these lovely Holiday cards???!!!

First of all, as someone who sent my very first holiday cards this year (only to family, but STILL) I now know first-hand how much work goes into them. Someone took time out of their busy lives to create, order and/or buy the cards, find my address, buy stamps, lick the envelopes (gross!) and get them in the mail in time for me to receive them and (theoretically) hang then for the world to see. They are filled with delightful photos of people I love, painstakingly chosen from thousands of sub-par photos taken throughout the year. Some have personal messages, handwritten with care, but all have been sent with love and wishes for a great holiday season and happy new year.

But, now that the holiday season is done and the happy new year has begun… what the hell do I do with them? Throwing them away makes me feel like an asshole. The thought of tossing your friends’ children’s faces into the recycling bin next to junk mail and way too many wine bottles is sickening. However, keeping all of these cards to add more clutter to my already post-holiday clutter is even more sickening.

What to do, what to do.  I guess, like most things that I don’t want to deal with, like oil changes and my anger issues, I will just leave them for the hubby to contend with.  Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?

I can't bear to throw away cards... unless you send me a picture of your cat dressed up as Santa. Then it goes into the trash upon arrival.

I can’t bear to throw away cards… unless you send me a cutesy picture of your cat dressed up as Santa. Then it goes into the trash upon arrival.

 

photo credit: Viola & Cats =^..^= HAPPY HOLIDAY ! via photopin cc

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Sleeping Like A Baby

Whoever made up the phrase "sleep like a baby" obviously never had one!

Whoever made up the phrase “sleep like a baby” obviously never had one!

Sometimes I get insomnia. I have always had trouble sleeping, even as a kid, although back then my insomnia dressed itself up as an imaginary friend who would keep me up at nights, pacing around my room and asking tough questions like, “What do you think happens when you die?” and, “Why does Santa hide all the Christmas presents in your parents’ closet?” I guess I had more of an imaginary Barbara Walters. Anyway, the point is that I have always had trouble sleeping, but it has only gotten worse as time goes on. I guess because as I got older, I discovered more things to worry about. (Though I am still up most nights trying to figure out why Santa hid all the Christmas presents in my parents closet!)

Then once I had a child, a solid night of sleep became a distant memory. Now there are numerous lists to make, hundreds of things to prepare for, and gazillions of irrational fears to worry about. It is a wonder that I am not a total zombie. However if you are reading this and there is something that I forgot to do for you or there is something that I did to otherwise piss you off… it’s because I am a zombie.

The past week or so, I have had another bout of insomnia. I either go to bed early, hoping to catch up a bit on sleep, or I stay up late, afraid to even try to fall asleep. Either way, the result is the same:  toss and turn for a few hours, move to the couch, toss and turn, move to the guest bedroom, toss and turn, until finally I drift off into a fitful sleep a few hours before it is time to wake up.  Last night I tried the stay-up late technique. Instead I watched The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Bad idea. You should never watch anything so frightening before trying to sleep. Finally I crawled into bed, exhausted, only to spend another couple of hours tossing and turning, before finally managing to fall asleep around 2:15 am.

Then my daughter woke up crying at 2:30 am.

My daughter is a pretty good sleeper. If she wakes up in the middle of the night, normally all it takes is a little pat on the back and kiss on the forehead, and she is back to dreamland and I am back to sleep and/or tossing/turning/worrying. Last night, however, I gave her a pat and a kiss and then stumbled back to bed, but she did not fall blissfully back to sleep. Instead she cried until I went back into her room. After trying this a few more times with the same result, I decided that perhaps she had insomnia too. I hope that she never has insomnia the way that I do, but sometimes it amazes me how in sync the two of us can be. So, I covered myself up with her little quilt and laid down next to her crib.

She would close her eyes for a few minutes, then peek her head up to make sure that I was still there, smiling at me before putting her head down again. After a while I saw a sweet, chubby, little hand poke through the bars of her crib. So I took it. We held hands like that until she finally drifted off to sleep. And then, amazingly, I did too. I slept for an hour there. The most solid hour of sleep that I have had all week, right there on the cold, hard floor, with my daughter’s soft, warm hand in mine. I finally woke up and went back to my bed. Of course I had a hard time falling asleep again, but this time because I was happy, not worried or stressed.  And I woke up this morning tired, but with a new clarity.

I think that this is exactly what parenting is all about:  Holding your little one’s hands, and then only later realizing that maybe it is they who were really holding your hand.
photo credit: thejbird via photopin cc

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Make Your Day Kick Ass: Dance Like a Toddler

Dancing: Guaranteed to Make Your Day Kick Ass

I spend most of my days teaching my daughter stuff. Important stuff like words, numbers, colors, how to read, how to poopoo in the potty, and how to say “Cheerio mate!” with a British accent. But as much as I teach her, I swear that she teaches me more.  Yesterday’s lesson:  How to Make Your Day Kick Ass!

You know those nights when you come home after a long, tiring day and just want to flop down on the couch, shovel carbs into your face hole and stare blankly at the TV?  Or perhaps you have been home with your kids for an equally long, tiring day and you just want to flop down on the couch, shovel carbs into your face hole and stare blankly at the TV.  But instead of some well-deserved couch time you get to do the Evening Scramble because there is dinner to be made, baths to be given, and finicky husbands – I mean children – to feed. You know those nights? Well, that was where I was last night.

It was a Monday, and a Monday after a vacation, at that. My husband had just gotten home from work, tired and hungry. I was scrambling to clean up the aftermath of the natural disaster that is my daughter’s dinner (can I get some FEMA up in here?) while simultaneously making a fabulous dinner – ok a dinner – for my husband and I. My daughter was running around, begging for attention. So, to distract her for the 2.4 minutes I needed to finish cleaning up, I turned on some music.  It was Foster The People Pandora if you must know (I’ve had it up to HERE with Elmo singing! Maybe the next Elmo could  have a less annoying voice, huh?  And perhaps not be a pedophile. ALLEGEDLY**)  Anyway, I cranked up the tunes and got back to the Evening Scramble.

A few minutes later I turned around to check on my daughter, and saw that she was dancing. Beautifully, maniacally, joyfully, hand-clappingly, booty-shakingly dancing with all her might.  If you have never seen a one-year-old dance, there is truly nothing better in the world. Usually I don’t make a habit of posting many photos or videos of my daughter, because I feel like she deserves some semblance of privacy. Although, for some reason it doesn’t bother me to share her every word, action and fart with the world, but hey, it’s my blog and I will share if I want to. Anyway, I don’t usually share videos, but this video of her dancing is pure happiness, so I feel like it is my duty to share it with the world.  Check it out on my Facebook page (and like my page while you are there!)  If you can watch this video and not smile, then you are dead inside.  Pack your shit and go try out for The Real Housewives.

So last night my daughter was dancing in her amazing way, and as my husband and I stood watching her, she ran over and grabbed our hands and pulled us to the dance floor (aka living room).  Yes, the kitchen was still a mess and the dinner was beginning to burn, but when a kid commands you to shake your ass, your ass gets shaken. So we danced. And then we danced some more. At first, I was trying to teach my daughter some dance moves, but she looked at me like I was crazy and kept doing her thing. So instead I let her teach me.  I copied HER moves, and man was it fun!  And now, in yet another act of kindness, I will teach you.

Step One:  Put on some booty-shaking music. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as gets your booty bouncing.

Step Two:  Turn it up!

Step Three:  Turn it up more!

Step Four:  Turn it down already! Do you want to make your child deaf?! What kind of parent are you anyway?

Step Five:  Close your eyes. Start to move your body. No one is watching you. No one cares if you are on-beat, in-time, or cool at all. Freeing right?

Step Six:  Now that no one is watching you, just relax and let your body take you where it wants to go. Clap your hands, jump up and down, kick your legs, twirl around until you fall down, laugh until you cry.

Step Six:  Repeat until your heart is beating out of your chest or the fire alarm goes off… whichever comes first.

We all danced like that for another 20 minutes or so, until it was time to get back to the business of life. You always have to get back to business eventually, that is the way that life works. But when I got back to making my (slightly charred) dinner, I was doing it with a smile on my face and my ass still twitching to the beat.  I felt more energized and much happier than if I had flopped down on the couch as I had wanted to.  It was a great way to end the day, and I am going to try it as often as possible. And then, when I am done dancing and my heart is doing the samba and my stomach aches from laughter, only then I will flop down on the couch, shovel carbs into my face hole and stare blankly at the TV.

**Don’t sue me Elmo!!

photo credit: Will Montague via photopin cc

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The Requisite Thanksgiving Post – But This One is GOOD!

I am thankful for those who drink as much as I.

I love me some Thanksgiving. What’s not to love?  Family and friends all gathered together. Delicious food and the ability to eat as much of it as you want without feeling guilty because everyone knows that calories don’t count on holidays. Same thing goes for drinking. Everyone knows that alcoholism doesn’t count on holidays. Plus, how the hell can you cook without wine? Or survive an entire day with aforementioned family without wine (Except for mine, of course. Happy Turkey Day Mom!  Thanks for giving me life!)

Unlike some other holidays lurking around this time of year, Thanksgiving is pretty stress-free (unless, of course, you are dumb generous enough to host.) There’s no gifts to be painstakingly purchased. No gifts to be returned, only to panic when the giver of said gift comes to visit and wonders where are those lovely ceramic figurines with the creepy, giant eyes that follow you everywhere, even your nightmares. There is no planning of a night out awesome enough to close out a great year and make all your Facebook friends jealous. Nope, none of those annoying holiday stresses. Thanksgiving is all about eating and drinking with friends and family and giving thanks for it all. Oh yeah, and I think it is also about Pilgrims, Native Americans and a giant Pumpkin who terrorizes children.  But don’t quote me on that.

However, as much as I love Thanksgiving and think it is important to give thanks, there is one thing about Thanksgiving that I dread:  the moment when all the food sits before you on the table, and instead of allowing you to dig in, the well-intentioned hostess asks everyone to go around the table and say what they are thankful for. Seriously?!  That is the right moment for that?  How about starting the giving of Thanks during the five hours when everyone is eating dip and dry carrots and waiting for the damn turkey to be done?  And why is it so hard to come up with something that I am thankful for at that moment? Perhaps it is because I am dizzy with hunger due to the fact that I starved myself all day to make up for the sick amount of calories I plan to consume. Or perhaps it is because I am drunk as I started drinking at 6 am without eating anything besides the cold, wet stuffing I snuck and ate with my fingers out of sheer desperation. Or perhaps it is simply the pressure of putting a whole year of thankfulness into a few words.  Whatever the reason, when called upon, I usually break out in a cold sweat and blurt out something like: “Iamgratefulformyfamilyandfriendsbecauseilovethemsomuchohyeahandmyhealthandmyfamilyandmyfriendsdidialreadysaythat.”

So, this year I am going to do things differently.  Firstly, I am going to make more of an effort to give thanks all year round.  Secondly, in order to bypass the paralyzing moment of Thanksgiving pressure, I am going to take the time to lay out some things that I am thankful for right here and now.

THIS YEAR I AM THANKFUL FOR:

Everyone who has read this far in the post.  For those of you who stopped reading after the first paragraph or who totally ignored this post: I hope you choke on a turkey bone or gain ten pounds, whichever is worse.  Just kidding.  But to those who read my blog:  THANK YOU!!

My amazing, smart, hilarious, charming daughter.  Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am.

My awesome family. I know you think your family is awesome, but my family kicks your family’s ass in my book.  Sorry.

My wonderful friends who support me, challenge me and love me no matter what.

A husband who makes me feel smart and funny, and who still likes to grab my ass.

Having an ass that someone still thinks is worth grabbing.

Girls trips.

Nap times.

Date nights.

Family days.

Push-up bras and Spanx:  Some people call it cheating. I call it branding.

Good red wine.

Cupcakes:  The perfect cake to frosting ratio.

My daughter’s amazing, obnoxious, loud, boisterous laugh.

Mixologists.

Wedge heels: Almost comfortable.

Movie theaters that let you pour your own butter on your popcorn.  Yes!

Skinny lattes.

Stretchy jeans:  I refuse to call them jeggings.

Vacations.

The health of me, my family and my friends.

Baby Tylenol:  Helped my daughter through a lot of crazy fevers this year.

Girls days with just my daughter and I, when I have no work, no chores and nothing to do but be with her.

Pumpkin spice…anything.

And the one thing that I am most thankful for…

Laughter:  Curer of everything that I am NOT thankful for.

So there you have it, My 2012 List of Thankfulness!  Hostesses take note:  this hereby exempts me from the torture of participating in this tradition this year, and possibly for all subsequent years.  So back off and let me eat overcooked turkey, already!  But just because I will not be participating myself, doesn’t mean that I won’t be watching this unfold. As much as I hate doing it myself, I love watching other people sweat at that inevitable moment when the person who goes before them takes the exact thing that they were going to say.  I love that moment!  In fact, you might even say that I am thankful for it.

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Round and Round

I swear that being a parent is the craziest roller coaster in the world.

My daughter is sick yet again, for the third week out of four weeks. This time with a nasty cold and again with a fever hitting above 104. She was up at midnight night crying inconsolably. Probably because she was tired but couldn’t sleep, scared because she couldn’t breathe, and angry because Mama couldn’t fix it. She was screaming and crying, and I was crying because I couldn’t help her. And I was tired because I haven’t once slept through the night in the past month.  And it was midnight. And I was thinking, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Then, morning came. And the sun was shining. And my daughter woke up feeling a bit better. And she hugged me tight and said “Lub you” in her little, hoarse, stuffy-nosed voice. And I thought, “I don’t know what I ever did before this.”


photo credit: Hamed Saber via photopin cc

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Life is a Real Dick Sometimes

My daughter is sick, yet again.  Fever spiked up to 105.7 last night.  Hives covering her entire body including her face, and it makes me want to weep every time I look at her.  No sleep for many nights due to fever and hives.  One car with a busted transmission even though it only has 60,000 miles.  The other car I used to sideswipe a parked car in the street in front of the doctor’s office today.  Hey, my sick daughter was crying in the back and did I mention I am tired.

All I can say is that life is being a real dick right now. So if I don’t return phone calls or clean my house, or if I polish off an entire bags of chips in one sitting (hypothetically of course) or yell at inanimate objects (also hypothetically)… don’t blame me, blame life.

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